


Waiting

by SilverGlassRain



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:11:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5407676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverGlassRain/pseuds/SilverGlassRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There will never be another man like Gavin Free, and never again will Michael find a love so intense, or fervent, or terrifying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

* * *

* * *

     “Hey baby,” Michael says, "I brought you flowers. Uh. Roses actually." The table is already overflowing so he picks out the most faded ones. "These ones are pretty much dead-" He shudders; forces himself to take a deep breath. "I'll just throw these out." The trashcan is a small piece of plastic designed to hold a tad of dust and certainly can't hold a large bouquet of flowers. It tumbles over and Michael kicks it violently. The plastic and the glass smashes against the wall in a fury of petals. He breathes heavily. A nurse outside the door tells someone not to go inside.

     He sets the replacement roses down carefully. They are intricate, more an art piece than a gift, with gold dipped tips and silk ribbons wrapped around the stems, all delicately arranged inside a bright green vase. "These are from Ray, of course."

     His voice is quiet. It doesn't seem right to speak loudly. He sits in a rigid chair, blue plastic with cracked corners; perched on the edge, hands tucked beneath his thighs. He could sit in the chair behind him- the one with thick cushions that swallow his sharp shoulders; the one the nurse with the aching eyes and shaking hands brought him. He thanked her but he cannot sit there.

Michael doesn’t ever want to feel comfortable here. He doesn’t want to admit that this is routine, his visits here.

    He does not bring a book or a computer because that would be admission to some sort of plan. He comes here every day (every single fucking day) but to plan it is to premeditate the action. He would be admitting that tomorrow will be the same never-ending limbo.  Although he comes here every day, he will never plan for it. To plan for it would admit that he will be here for the countless tomorrows, and next days,

     He says goodbye to the tired nurses behind the counter. He will never say 'see you tomorrow' even when they say it to him. Every visit has to be his last because the thought of walking through that door just to meet silence and that pale corpse on the bed sheets rips pieces out of him.

     “I miss you.” His voice cracks when he whispers. He should be yelling and there should be an echo like he stands inside a ravine with Gavin answering from up high.

      “Gavin… I…” His voice cracks again and he moves further forward. He slips his hands from beneath him and grasps Gavin’s fingers. He is used to tan fingers sliding between his own, twisting playfully, or pulling him closer. They have never been just... still. Even in sleep, his fingers would twitch gently, and Michael would take hold of them, warming them against his chest until he fell asleep. Now the nurses tell him he can't squeeze too tight because he could break his fingers.

     “I really, really need you to wake up now.” There are shades on the windows, and the door is shut, but he is still whispering because these words shouldn’t be said.

     They shouldn’t be said because Gavin shouldn’t fucking  _be_ here. His skin shouldn’t this shade of death, and there shouldn’t be tubes inside his nose, or between his lips. He has a terrible gag reflex. Michael told them that but the doctor only placed a hand on his shaking shoulder and said sorry.

There shouldn’t be a mask over his mouth, because Gavin never stops talking. He knew something of everything, right or wrong, and he could (can) form a view of a solar system while huddled in a cave. His mind is endless. He knew worlds created in the half-second between a frame and the velocity of beam of light.

     “You were…” Michael takes a shuddering breath. He shows rage, he shows anger. He grew up with steel fists and titanium plated emotions. He has always been a fire rising high in a small body. He knows how to play to an audience. He knows how to take a small emotion and amplify it to please a crowd. But this? What is this? This is trying to touch with severed hands- see with pierced eyes. This is having your soul ripped from your body. It cannot be emotion for emotion has name and face and definition. This endless vision of _nothing left_ is an agony of mythology, philosophy; a theoretical agony that could bring god's to their knees.

     He tries to breathe but the air is thick. He tries to take a breath but Gavin can't breathe, not without these machines, and since when is the beeping of a machine equal to the gentle thrum of a heartbeat? He has laid his head upon his lover's chest and felt that warmth- he has heard that rhythm and it is not the tune of a cold machine

“You _are_ everything.”

     Gavin had been his light. And he hadn’t seen it before because only now is he submerged in black. He is drowning, and without the light in the sky above him he can’t find his way out.

     Gavin was more than his light _;_ he was light as if he was a star but he could never be reduced to a distant flicker. He was a burning inferno of pure, unadulterated energy. He moved beyond metaphor, and became something greater- something more meaningful. So what is left? This darkness is a black hole. It is a void. It is the collapse of a matter so absolutely incredible that all light left in its wake is swallowed whole. It is the absence of the greatest man he has ever known.

“I know I’m not perfect.”

     "I'm sorry I didn't bring you any flowers. Or, uh, alcohol." While the Rose King brought flowers, Geoff smuggled bottles of alcohol inside an overcoat. He even brought two glasses, and said cheers as he clanked the glasses together himself, one held tightly in each hand. He drank both. Michael had left after that- and he will never admit to hearing the older man beg for his son to wake up.

     Afterwards he watched Geoff toss every ounce of alcohol into the trash. Griffon When he stopped by the office to collect some of Gavin's things he caught Ray throwing an over-sized rose figure away. Those are the pieces they gave away.

     Michael watched as they stood where he now sits. He watched as they placed their offering, and mourned, and left to nurse the open wound in their soul. He watched members of the company who knew of Gavin as more of a legend than a friend and most of their memories came from film they weren't in. They always glanced nervously at Michael as they awkwardly told the silent ghost of man on the bed to get better. They never said goodbye after the first one to utter the phrase was led from the room with blood streaming from nose and mouth. 

He wants to break everything, every single last one of those stupid little tokens and gifts, because it isn't that simple for him. 

     He can’t give away some small piece, because Gavin has already taken everything. Michael has given him heart and soul and body, and all he has now is this endless empty- this grey nothing where a tall man with an accent once stood.

“But I love you.”

He feels his heart give out, and he is sobbing, and clutching at Gavin’s hand desperately.

“God fucking dammit Gavin, I love you so fucking much.”

     He doesn’t use past tense, as others have done, because he knows he never will. There will never be another man like Gavin Free, and never again will Michael find a love so intense, or fervent, or terrifying.

“I should have been there.” His voice lowers. This will always be his regret. He could never, and will never, regret Gavin.

“I’m so sorry baby.” He presses wet kisses to those long fingers, each touch a silent apology. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you.”

     His phone had been broken, cracked by a wall that he had taken offense to during a rage quit. He had delayed in getting it fixed because that was such a hassle, and if anyone needed him they simply called Gavin.

     But on March 3rd, Gavin went out to get lunch. He decided to walk to a nearby Chinese place because Chinese was Michael’s favorite. When Michael was given his wallet, he found a receipt for two orders of chicken lo mein and three extra packs of crab Rangoon. They were Michael’s favorite, but Gavin didn’t care for them, or the way they made Michael’s mouth taste.

     On March 3rd, a car lost control and drove through a red-light. It wasn’t a busy day and there weren’t too many people on the crosswalk. Everyone managed to get out of the way, with the most severe injury a sprained wrist.

Everyone except a tall, British man holding a large bag of Chinese food and wearing a goofy smile.

Michael had been lost in a game. There had been no way to reach him.

     When he heard the knock on his door, he knew it was Gavin, because Gavin was always forgetting his key. He was going to open the door, and poke fun at him, and then kiss those pouting lips.

But Geoff was at the door. He was drenched in sweat and gasping for air. His eyes looked crazed and bloodshot and there was a horror in them.

All it took was one word, one breathless gasp of Gavin’s name, and Michael knew. And his world fell from beneath him.

     He should have been there. He should have been there when Gavin was hurt and bleeding and scared. He should have been in the ambulance, holding his hand and telling him how much he loved him and how it was going to be okay.

He should have been there in the two minutes before the ambulance arrived at the hospital, when Gavin began to seize.  

“I need you to open your eyes, boy.” The words are less words than cries, but he doesn’t need anyone else to hear this. “I need you to say something.”

     A nurse is standing outside the door, waiting. But she isn’t waiting for Gavin to move slightly, or for his eyes to twitch. It has been six months- six months of doctors telling him his Gavin is gone. At first everyone had some semblance of hope. Geoff had been the first to make jokes that a little coma might actually fix some of what was wrong in Gavin's brain.

Michael is the only one left waiting.

     He wishes he had more to say but it has all been said before. Sitting in this chair, Michael has told Gavin everything. He mentioned every memory they created. He relived their first meeting, and their first kiss, and the first time they truly made love.

And all he has left to say is how much he loves him, and misses him, and how sorry he is. That is all he has left to say, and he could say it forever.

But the nurse is outside, waiting for him.

Michael doesn’t want to open that door for the last time. He doesn’t want to go back to his apartment, and crawl into bed alone.

He wants Gavin to come home and mess up the kitchen, and break his lamps again, and make the coffee too strong.  

There will never be another man like Gavin Free, and Michael knows he will never love like this again.

He stands, and brushes back the bit of hair Gavin has left. He presses one kiss upon his forehead, still holding tightly to his hand. He gently touches the band on his ring finger. He promised to be together until death did them part but death never will because all of what lived in Michael left with Gavin. 

“You’re my boy, Gavin.”

Gavin’s hand slips from his.


End file.
